


The Last Laugh

by doomtwinkie (shinysparks)



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Abbie Mills Shines, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Crane gets the worst of it, F/M, I've had waaaaay too much caffeine, Ichabbie Forever, Ichabbie Spring, Prank Wars, What Have I Done, What Was I Thinking?, You're Welcome, abbiemillsshines, ichabbiespring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 06:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10565745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinysparks/pseuds/doomtwinkie
Summary: An April Fools Day prank war breaks out between Team Witness, and there can only be one winner...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thymelady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thymelady/gifts).



> Written for Abbie Mills Shines/Ichabbie Spring. Thanks to Thymelady for betaing this monstrosity! <3 THIS FIC IS FOR YOU, MY BESTIE! <3

Jenny Mills was not one to be trifled with - not in the slightest.

Crane’s pranks had been cute. They were nearly as old as he was, but they were still cute - at least at first. Unscrewing the cap off of the salt and pepper shakers? Cute. Soaping the windows of her trailer? Annoying, but cute. Wrapping cling wrap around her toilet seat? Okay, that one ended up being a little messy, but still... Cute.

But when her expensive deep conditioner ended up full of forest green hair dye - hair dye that she’d not noticed until her curly locks were well covered and stained a colorful emerald - well... now it was on. It was _SO_ on.

A pair of scissors in hand, Jenny quietly crept into his room, the floorboards of the cabin squeaking slightly under her feet. The sound didn’t matter too much, of course, not with the few tablets of benadryl she’d crushed up and poured into his cup of tea when he hadn’t been looking. He wasn’t going to be bothered much by sounds. Or much at all, really. She eyed him carefully as she headed for the chest of drawers where he kept his clothes. Crane was sprawled across the bed, drooling profusely all over his pillow. The left side of his nightgown was pulled up far enough for her to see the lower part of his ass.

 _So, he doesn’t sleep in underwear..._ she thought to herself, smiling, as she eyed his bare behind. _Perfect. That makes things easier._

Slowly, she opened each drawer, reaching in and grabbing each article of clothing she found - his shirts, breeches, underwear, socks and coats - before cutting each into fine shreds that were far beyond the point of any repair. She then folded them back up, and placed them back inside the drawer. Jenny only left two articles of clothing intact: a modern button-up shirt that Abbie had once purchased for him, and a pair of jeans. _Skinny_ jeans.

Grinning evilly from her handiwork, she pulled a strand of her forest-colored hair behind her ear, and then tiptoed over to Crane’s bedside. She looked down at the nightgown he wore, and shook her head. She couldn’t leave him like that, she realized. Not Crane, anyway. He was, at the very least, stubborn - especially when it came to his clothing. As long as he had some refuge in his 18th century attire, he’d certainly take it, no matter how ridiculous it made him look.

Carefully, she picked up the back of his nightgown, and taking her scissors, slowly sliced it all the way up the back.

“Your move, Crane,” She whispered, trying hard not to chuckle, at his still snoozing form...


	2. Chapter 2

It was hard to be stealthy when one’s nethers were being held hostage by overly tight denim.

Ichabod Crane was not amused - not in the slightest - as he crawled through the window of Jenny’s trailer with a backpack strapped to his back, trying hard not to make a sound. Normally, he’d have been able to slide his thin frame through the window with the greatest of ease; however, the skinny jeans did not move as easily as his usual breeches had; they were strangling; they were stifling; and he was ridiculously worried that his backside would slip out of them at any given time (something that would’ve been quite shocking, given that he was not currently wearing any underwear.) Skinny jeans were horrible. They were evil, they were apocalyptic, and he couldn’t wait to be rid of them.

Earlier that day, he’d dialed the number of the seamstress who’d outfitted him before, hoping that she might have something - anything - left. Halfway through dialing, he remembered that she was dead.

“Don’t worry, Crane. We’ll go shopping tomorrow,” Abbie had told him, smiling eagerly for another chance of a modern makeover; and pointing at a paper showing dozens of Spring sales going on. Crane had just groaned in reply.

_Although, at this point, I’d happily wear a kilt if it meant taking these blasted trousers off!_ He thought to himself, sliding off Jenny’s counter and onto the cold, linoleum floor. Silently, he shed his boots.

Barefoot, Crane quietly stepped through her tiny kitchen, pulling off his backpack and carefully unzipping it. He grabbed a thermos from within that was filled with perfectly warm water, along with a bowl. Pouring the water from the thermos into the bowl, he picked it up and walked carefully into Jenny’s bedroom. 

Crane slowed and quieted his breathing as he inched into the tiny room, eyeing Jenny and Joe, who were cuddled up and fast asleep in the bed. He sat the bowl of warm water down on the nighttable next to the bed, and with as much care as he could muster, plucked up Jenny’s wrist by the old, flannel shirt she slept in. Moving slowly and watching her intently for any movement; any sign that she might awaken; he then dropped her hand into the bowl of warm water. It bobbed slightly, and then became still.

Jenny snorted, but did not awake.

Crane grinned from ear to ear, wiggling his bare toes in the trailer’s shag carpeting in celebration of a prank well done.

“I hope Miss Siri is indeed correct about what comes next,” he whispered to himself...


	3. Chapter 3

If anything could be said for Joe Corbin, it was that he was not a fan of watersports - accidental, or otherwise.

The bowl of water - now cold - was knocked to the floor as Jenny screamed and panted and curse Crane’s name. She knew it was him. Even Joe knew it was him, what with the juvenile level of the prank mixed with a certain stealthy delinquency that screamed Ichabod Crane. Kitchen window, Joe figured, was where he’d broken in. It was wide enough for Crane to slip through, and the damned window never did lock properly, anyway. Joe made a mental note to install an alarm there, just in case Crane decided to try again.

He pushed himself off the bed and pulled out a clean pair of pajama pants from the drawer. He slid the wet pants off, and pulled on the dry ones. A shower would be necessary later, of course. _Perhaps with Jenny?_ he thought to himself, grinning.

_Click, click._

He turned around and eyed Jenny, who had slipped off the side of the wet bed and was quickly loading bullets into her gun. She then pulled out a long knife from out behind her headboard, and then another gun out from underneath her mattress.

Joe sighed. Loudly. 

“I’m not going to murder him, Joe,” Jenny told him, still loading bullets, “I’m just going to scare him a little. Make him cry, maybe give him a little flesh wound or three...”

Joe walked over and sat down next to her, careful not to hit the big, wet puddle.

“Let me handle this one,” he told her, a determined look in his eyes. 

Jenny said nothing, only stared at him. She popped another bullet into the clip.

“Please?” Joe continued, sticking out his bottom lip, “If I promise to make it _hurt?_ ”

Jenny sighed, and relented. She put down the gun, and kissed Joe on the cheek. He blushed.

“I’m serious about making him cry, though,” she said.

That night, Joe walked into Crane’s bedroom, not even bothering to move quietly. He didn’t need to. Crane was completely out cold, thanks to the powerful, fast-acting sleeping pill he’d slipped into the man’s tea earlier. Joe smiled. Benadryl was for amateurs.

Gently, he rolled Crane onto his back, causing the sleeping man to sniffle and snort a little, and then mumble and moan the words “leftenant,” “bikini,” “lower,” and “treasure;” but he did not wake.

Joe shook his head, smirking. And then he pulled the beard trimmers from out of his jacket pocket, flicking them on and off as he moved toward Crane.

There would be tears come morning...


	4. Chapter 4

There had been tears, only they had come from Abbie Mills, instead.

When Crane had texted her a photo of himself that morning in a panic, she’d laughed so very, very hard. She laughed until it hurt, until she was doubled over, and tears ran down her cheeks. And still, she continued, despite the pain and tears, because it was just _so_ damned funny. The fact that he’d woke up missing half of his beard had been bad enough. That the letters “J-O-E” had been carved into the remaining side of his beard was worse. But the mullet that Joe had given him... well, that had been something else altogether.

“I HAVE BEEN MAIMED BY MASTER CORBIN!” He’d texted her again when she did not reply. “YOU ARE NOT LAUGHING, ARE YOU?!”

It took her a few more minutes before she was able to text back: “No of course not, Crane.”

She burst out laughing again right after.

A few hours later, she stood inside of a hair salon, a short distance away from Crane - a very beardless Crane - who was sitting very impatiently in the stylist’s chair, having his “maimed” hair fixed. He stared down at his lap, at the pile of hair that kept growing bigger and bigger by the moment. His eyes were wide, his fingers nervously drummed on the arms of the chair, and he kept mumbling “oh god.”

Abbie pulled out her phone and tapped the camera app, mostly to distract herself from bursting out in a laughing fit. Again.

“Are you filming this, leftenant?” He asked gruffly, looking up. The stylist pushed his head back down.  
“Oh yeah, just in case I never get to see this again,” She replied, stifling a chuckle, “I can’t get over how round your chin is without the beard!”

Crane groaned loudly and squirmed in his seat, causing the stylist to groan as well. He’d been squirming ever since he sat down, and it had already caused one mistake thus far - a mistake that had necessitated an even shorter haircut than the aftermath of Joe’s prank had required. The stylist had even suggested that, if he continued to move, that maybe his “girlfriend” should sit in his lap to keep him still. Abbie herself had blushed at the suggestion, and Crane’s newly exposed ears had gone bright red.

“I feel naked and ridiculous,” he mumbled, still staring at his lap. A large strand of hair fell into it, and he bit his lip.

_Not as ridiculous as you looked with that mullet,_ Abbie thought to herself, biting her own lip to keep from laughing. She was glad she had been able to snap a “before” photo when he wasn’t looking.

“You look fine, Crane,” she reassured him, “and hey, sometimes change is good.”

He squirmed again. The stylist groaned again, and muttered something about “duck tape.”

“The change of clothing was sufficient,” he replied, wiggling his nose when a bit of hair landed on it, “this was unnecessary.”

Abbie scoffed at him.

“If you’d not started this prank war, Crane, none of this would’ve happened,” she told him, “the green dye really set Jenny off.”  
“I had nothing to do with that!” He protested, with another squirm in the chair, “I would never do that to Miss Jenny! I have clearly been framed!”  
“Crane...” Abbie said with a sigh.  
“Perhaps it was Master Corbin,” Crane replied, accusingly, pointing to his own head, “he seems a fitting suspect after this!”  
“Crane, you broke into her home and put her hand into a bowl of warm water so she would pee the bed!”  
“After _she_ broke into my home and shredded the contents of my entire wardrobe!” He exclaimed. “And Master Corbin had no reason to get involved!”

Abbie stopped filming, and shook her head.

“See, this is why I don’t get involved with these silly pranks! It never ends!” She growled. “April Fools Day was four days ago. It’s over. Move on.”  
“I must have vengeance for this...”  
“It’s hair, Crane! It grows back. And given the amount of split ends and damage you had before, this was probably going to be necessary sooner or later, anyway.” She said in a huff, “the worst you’ll have to endure is a few days of cold ears, that they’ll stop writing _‘weird revolutionary war cosplayer’_ on your Starbucks cups, and you might have to buy some hair product - and pay taxes on it!”

Crane growled and wiggled around in the chair again - harder than he had before. _Was he itchy_ , Abbie wondered, watching him squirm and grunt, _itchy and cannot scratch?_ He was certainly uncomfortable with something, she surmised - something more than just the short hair. She considered the clothing he wore for a moment, the stripey, light blue button-up shirt and the dark blue pants; wondering if, perhaps, they were itchy to him. However, she quickly dismissed it. Both were made of cotton, were soft, and were tagless. Nothing that should’ve irritated him, at least. And yet, he still squirmed and squirmed.

“Why do you keep doing that?!” She finally just came right out and asked.

Crane sighed heavily and looked up at her.

“Because...” He paused, biting his lip again, “...my beard... was not the only part of me that was shaved, Leftenant...”


	5. Chapter 5

_Four days later..._

“Alright, this has to stop,” Abbie said, pacing back in forth in her living room, eyeing Joe, Jenny and Crane, who were all sitting on the couch in front of her; all of whom were looking worse for wear - Joe, especially. Crane had, indeed, got his revenge. It had involved some black walnut stain, another night-time excursion into Jenny’s trailer, and the words “SCURVY LOUSE” written in Crane’s fine handwriting upon Joe’s forehead. His forehead was red and raw from many failed attempts to scrub the words off.

Joe and Jenny stared over at Crane, who stared back at them as evilly as he could muster while he fidgeted with the fine, newly grown stubble on his chin. He sat uncomfortably, and Abbie knew why. Jenny had gotten revenge on Joe’s behalf, with a couple of ativan and a stick and poke tattoo kit that she’d used to write “I ♡ Abbie Mills” on his right butt cheek. Crane had not been amused (the words themselves had not seemed to bother him in the least, which Abbie found... interesting; but he’d complained incessantly about the placement. And how uncomfortable it was. And how sitting had become rather inconvenient.) In fact, he’d barely shut up about the thing in the two days since it had happened, only stopping long enough to ask, “tell me, Leftenant: do you think Amazon would carry large amounts of live spiders? Or snakes, perhaps?”

She’d gotten them all together soon after that.

“Tell that to Icky,” Jenny spat, still eyeing Crane, as she pushed a faded green strand of her hair out of her face, “he’s the one who started this!”  
“I simply played a few harmless pranks!” Crane protested, “I had nothing to do with the unfortunate shade of your hair, Miss Jenny!”  
“Unfortunate?!” Jenny growled at him, raising up off the couch.  
“ENOUGH!” Abbie yelled. Jenny sat back down. “It doesn’t matter who did what. The fact is, this is getting out of hand. It’s been over a week since April Fool’s Day! If you don’t stop, someone is going to get hurt, alright? I don’t want to see that. I also don’t want to be put in a position where I’ll have to arrest one or all of you, okay? So, enough is enough. The green is already fading, Jenny. Joe can wear a hat until the stain fades, and Crane has finally joined the rest of us in the twenty-first century. Really, let’s call it quits, okay?”

There was a collective sigh from the couch.

“So, truce?” Abbie asked them.

They nodded.

“Good. Now get in the car. We’re going to celebrate the end of this nonsense with a nice, quiet dinner.”

Jenny, Joe and Crane all stood up - Crane a bit more slowly than the others. They walked towards the door, with Joe stopping for a moment to pull a dark blue beanie down over his head, covering his forehead as best he could. Crane also stopped when he got to the door, noticing that Abbie had not followed them.

“Are you coming, leftenant?” Crane asked, looking back at her.  
“Yeah, I’ll be right there. I just want to take out the garbage as I go.”  
“Oh, allow me!” Crane said, walking over to the can.  
“Nooooo! That’s okay. You’re _wounded_ , remember? I can handle it.” She said with a smile, “I’ll be right out.”

Crane made an attempt to bow, wincing when he bent over a bit too far. He then turned and headed out the door behind Jenny and Joe.

Abbie sighed, and walked over to the garbage can. She popped the lid up, grabbing the bag out. As she did, a small, empty jar of forest green hair dye slid out from under some papers. She stared at it for a moment, before plucking it out of the bag. It was the catalyst - the cause of the prank war that had been raging between them since April the first. Had it not been for that one small jar, nothing would’ve happened. Nothing would’ve escalated (and nothing would’ve persuaded Crane to finally stop dressing like a man out of time.) She turned it around in her hands, staring at it.

And then she grinned from ear to ear.

“Damn, I’m good,” She muttered to herself, giggling, as she shoved the jar back into the garbage, “I am _so_ good.”


End file.
